Sherman was forced to slow. The car had already jerked twice from the treacherous black ice. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that the blood had drained from his fingers, leaving them ghostly white.
“Just concentrate on the road,” he murmured to himself. “Don’t think about that voice calling your name.”
Headlights blinded him. Sherman squinted and shouted when the headlights became too close. He swerved, trying to avoid the other driver and felt the car bouncing, as if the tires had left the road and were now on the frozen dirt.
Sherman hit the brakes, and thankfully, the car came to a stop. His heart was in his throat as he looked around, but it was so dark out that he wasn’t sure which direction he was turned. When he gently pushed on the gas pedal, the tires spun.
“Crap!” He slammed his hand onto the steering wheel.
He sat there, letting his heart return to a regular beat before pulling out his phone and calling Payton.
“Didn’t think I would hear from you tonight,” Payton said when he answered.
“Dalton wasn’t home, and I ran off the road. I need help.” Sherman looked around, still feeling spooked. “Can Miller come get me out of this patch of grass that my tires keep spinning in?”
“Dude, you don’t carry kitty litter in your trunk this time of year?” Payton asked. “It’s as essential as a blanket and a gallon of water, also a flare.”
Sherman wasn’t sure what his mother had in her trunk, but he didn’t want to be out there alone. He shivered, even though the heat was blowing inside the car. “No, so can he just come help me?”
A sedan pulled to the shoulder, and the driver got out, heading Sherman’s way. From what Sherman could see in the darkness, the guy was tall and lean with dark hair. He made the gesture for Sherman to roll down his window, which Sherman did.
“Stuck?” the guy asked.
“Yeah. I swerved to avoid some jackass who doesn’t know how to drive on black ice.”
“I can help.”
“Who is that?” Payton asked.
“Some stranger who’s gonna help me. I guess you and Miller don’t need to come rescue me, after all. I’ll see you when I get back to the house.”
“I don’t like this,” Payton said. “I’m still coming.”
“Why?” Sherman argued. “The guy seems nice enough. I’ll call you when I’m back on the road.”
He hung up before Payton could say another word. Sherman just wanted to get back on the road and back to his mom’s house. This day had been a disaster, and he just wanted some sleep.
The guy returned with what looked like a bag of kitty litter in his hands. “Might need your help.”
God, Sherman did not want to get out, but the guy was nice enough to stop and help him, so it would be rude of Sherman to remain in his car.
He opened the driver’s door and stepped out onto the hard earth. The grass crunched under his boots as he wrapped his arms around his midsection and joined the stranger at the rear of his car.
“Pop the trunk,” the guy said. “I think you might have a flat, or at least a slow leak. Your tire is looking kind of low.”
Sherman knew nothing about cars. To him, the tire just looked sunken into the dirt. He went back to the driver’s side and pulled the lever then rejoined the stranger.
“I really appreciate you stopping.” The warmth from the car was already dissipating. Sherman was colder now with the wind whipping in the open field. The tips of his ears stung, as well as his cheeks.
“No problem. I would hope someone would do the same for me if I was stranded.” The guy tossed the bag into the trunk without even opening it or pouring any litter.
Maybe he wanted to change the tire first, but why would he put the bag on top of the compartment where the spare tire rested?
“Then again, I don’t get stranded.” The guy gave Sherman a smile. “I can travel pretty damn fast on foot.”
A compulsion to flee overtook Sherman. His gut told him something wasn’t right. He took a step back, wishing he’d told Payton to still meet him, but it was too late for that.
Sherman shouted and shoved at the guy when the stranger reached for him, pushing him toward the open trunk.
“No use fighting, human. You’re not going to win.”
Human? Sherman’s knees buckled as the guy grabbed him in a bruising grip and forced him into the trunk, stealing Sherman’s cell phone from his pocket.
Sherman shouted again as the trunk was slammed closed.
* * * *
“Do you know how many poisons are out there?” Evan said when Dalton asked for the fifth time if the doctor had pinpointed which poison Raphael had used. “This might take some time, although knowing how slow-acting it is helps narrow down my search.”
The tingling burn had reached midway between Dalton’s wrist and his elbow. He couldn’t move his fingers on his right arm, and the helplessness was frustrating.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an irate patient, but I’m worried what will happen if it reaches my heart.”
“Just stay calm,” Evan said from where he stood by the centrifuge machine where tubes of Dalton’s blood were spinning. “The faster your heartrate, the faster the poison will work.”
It was late, but as Dalton sat there, he dialed Sherman’s phone number. It went straight to voice mail. Okay, now he was worried. They hadn’t known each other that long, but every time he’d called, Sherman had answered.
Except today.
Dalton couldn’t just sit there. He had to know what was going on with Sherman. If his mate had cold feet, Dalton needed to talk to him. “I’m gonna take off.”
Evan looked over his shoulder. “Do you think that’s wise? We don’t know what poison this Raphael guy used. I’d rather have you wait here until I can find out which one.”
“And my mate isn’t answering,” Dalton said. “I need to go find him. As soon as I talk to him, I’ll be back.”
Especially with Raphael in town. Dalton was worried the vampire would go after Sherman. He should have never left his mate’s side today, but Dalton had wanted to give Sherman space, and now all he was filled with was worry.
He hopped into his truck and drove to Gladys’s house. Dalton didn’t care how late it was. Sherman was going to talk to him. Whatever his mate was frightened of, they could work through it. Mating was for life, and if they were going to have a happy one, Sherman needed to learn that talking instead of running worked a whole lot better.
As soon as he pulled into Gladys’s driveway, Dalton knew something was wrong. Where was the sedan? And why was there a pickup truck parked there instead?
With a low growl, Dalton got out and stormed toward the front door. He hadn’t seen what Raphael was driving, and if that was him at the house, Dalton wasn’t holding back this time.
He didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. Dalton walked right in. “Sherman!”
Was that fresh-baked apple pie he smelled? The aroma made Dalton’s stomach growl.
A broad guy with dark hair charged Dalton, tackling him at the door. He snarled, showing his claws. “Who the fuck are you?”
Dalton used his elbow and swung at the guy, knocking the stranger off him. The move made his bad arm feel as if it had exploded with fire, but Dalton got to his feet and crouched, ready to kill the son of a bitch. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my mate’s house?”